


Valkyrie

by coffeehousehaunt



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015), Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assumes they've hooked up before, Come wallow with me in lesbian misery, Drunk Sex, F/F, I just need the catharsis, Immediately post-Supergirl 2x04, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 14:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8449255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeehousehaunt/pseuds/coffeehousehaunt
Summary: Alex is reeling from rejection and runs into someone familiar. 
She supposes it's better Wynonna than someone else.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My aromantic murder children. Set immediately after Supergirl 2x04. Assumes that they’ve had an encounter before. If you _really_ need a context, I’d rec [Beagles’ fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7495179). But this doesn’t assume any kind of continuity whatsoever and is absolutely not intended as a sequel. Just to get you in the (incredibly angsty) mood. If that’s a thing you need. 
> 
> The title is because I'm drunkish and it seemed appropriate. Here's hoping I never look at this one again. x.x

“You’re a long way from Athens.” After the night they had—embarrassingly _bare_ , the both of them, and on another continent, besides—Alex would usually rather let one-night stands pass her by.   
  
But after today, she doesn’t care. She’s broken enough (and drunk enough) that it tickles her, seeing someone she didn’t really know and doesn’t actually have a history with. And, it would round out her night. And, Wynonna was… a good person.   
  
There was no danger of coming in second with her; they both have a list longer than Alex’s hair was then and their scars stand shoulder-to-shoulder perfectly.   
  
Wynonna throws a “ _Who the fuck you talking to_ ” look Alex’s way, and then squints. “A—Ash…ley?” She stretches it out uncertainly, backing away slowly with her drink in her hand, and Alex is too familiar with this game to be anything other than amused.   
  
Alex snorts. “Close enough.” And takes another drink.   
  
Wynonna’s brows knit, that familiar, well-honed instinct to _run away, far away_ keeping her backpedaling, albeit at a slower pace than Alex would expect. Alex could care less, though, at this point. It is what it is.   
  
If she didn’t know better than to listen to herself, she’d say that Wynonna looks… good. Not that she didn’t before. Confident. Sharp eyes. Dirt on her jeans and a steadiness in her hands that, well…  
  
Alex supposes that may just be the result of how _small_ she feels; something about perspective. She’s a fraction of what she was when she met Wynonna. Or maybe she just didn’t know. How lucky she got that night.   
  
“Amanda.” God, this girl. Does not give up when she should. But Alex’s name is common enough that everyone comes across it eventually, right? Lowest common denominator.   
  
Small voice. “Andie?”   
  
Alex smirks into her drink. “Don’t worry about it. You want a drink?”   
  
“Do I have enough hands?” It seems like an honest question, since Wynonna looks at her hands like she’s going to count them.   
  
“Let’s make that a non-issue.” Alex drawls, pulling her bottle over to share between them. It’s a false familiarity, but she doesn’t care. “If you’re comfortable with that. No worries if not.” Refreshing, after today. How she can say that and _mean_ it.   
  
Wynonna’s eyes jump between Alex and the bottle a couple times, wide like she can’t quite believe it.   
  
“Works for me,” She says, climbing up onto the bar seat next to her.   
  
“Alex,” Alex says, and Wynonna’s eyebrows furrow warily, motions slowing even while she sits down. “When you need a refill,” She clarifies. _If_ , she thinks afterwards. With how her day has gone. Wynonna relaxes noticeably and nods.   
  
//   
  
Alex _tries_ not to make it awkward. But since when has she ever pulled _that_ off?   
  
“You ever just realize that no matter how much you _want_ or _try_ or _work_ , you’re only ever gonna come in second?” She blurts. And then realizes that Wynonna has absolutely no context to know what she’s talking about. Even why it would matter to Alex.   
  
Wynonna looks surprised for a minute, and then snorts. “I wish that was enough to keep me out of the shitfest.”   
  
Alex laughs hopelessly. “It really isn’t.”   
  
//  
  
“I’m from the middle of nowhere.” Wynonna says suddenly into one of their silences, staring into her drink like it’ll show her why she’s doing what she’s doing. “I spent my whole life dying to get out of there, to just… Be anywhere but there. Now, it’ll be where I spend the rest of my life. It’ll be where I die. This piss-ass, bigoted, _backwards_ , wide spot in the road full of people I never wanted to see again and… They’re gonna be the last faces I see.   
  
“They took my childhood, my sanity, my innocence. And I’m gonna die for them.” She leans back, staring into her drink, biting her lip. She’s young, Alex realizes. Maybe her age. Long limbs and messy hair and more metric tons of pressure per square inch of skin that’s too young to even have lines on it than most industrial equipment will ever carry.   
  
Alex leans in and kisses her. Lowest common denominator.   
  
//  
  
This is why Alex doesn't go back for a second time. As a rule.   
  
But they’re both pros at this. It might as well be the first. Just a few steps further beyond convention. Just a little more shame. Just a few more lights out. No pause at the wrong name.   
  
There’ll be a few more frames of Wynonna behind Alex’s eyelids, unbidden. Things she did without meaning to. The curve of her hip stark in the half-light. Something about the color of her hair, the way she flicks it over her shoulder. Her hands.   
  
She has _good_ hands. Alex didn’t notice, the first time.   
  
Something about the steadiness in her eyes that Alex has to look away from, during and after. Alex doesn’t know Wynonna, but she knows the types _she_ prefers, and Wynonna doesn’t have enough moral high ground for pity.   
  
This, whatever it is, is almost worse.   
  
They’re both just walking evidence that the universe isn’t fair.   
  
But there’s enough whiskey in Alex’s veins that she can see it all and not care.   
  
  



End file.
